


bow to the storm (your roots are crumbling)

by Myrime



Category: Captain America - All Media Types, Iron Man (Movies), Marvel, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Don't copy to another site, Gen, Howard Stark's A+ Parenting, Iron Man Bingo 2019, Manipulation, Morally Ambiguous Tony Stark, Non-Sexual Slavery, Power Imbalance, Slavery, Steve Rogers Feels, Steve Rogers Needs a Hug
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-29
Updated: 2019-04-13
Packaged: 2019-12-26 08:30:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 20,729
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18279560
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Myrime/pseuds/Myrime
Summary: “He resisted transport, sir,” one of the guards reports as they throw Steve at Tony Stark's feet in chains.“I am not surprised,” Stark says, smiling with the kind of satisfaction that makes Steve sick to his stomach. “He was advertised as rather insubordinate.”- When Steve wakes up in the future, it is with a chip in his brain and his freedom stripped away. Drowning, he thinks, might have been the kinder fate.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Entry for the Iron Man Bingo, for the Villain!Tony square. Well, Tony's not really a villain, but he's a creation of his time.  
> Enjoy!

Steve wakes up cold. He barely feels his limbs, can barely get his lungs to expand. When he opens his eyes, he is not in the plane anymore, there is no water shooting in through the burst hull of his plane. Instead, he is in some kind of hospital room. The wall are a bare, blinding white, but there, next to him, are lights hovering in the air. A pleasant blue forming into words and numbers. A line jumps right in time with his heartbeat.

The last thing he remembers is Peggy’s voice and the unforgiving sea rushing up to meet him. He remembers dying. This place, however, does not feel like either heaven or hell. Steve is not sure whether he prefers this sudden return to life to a clean death.

He has a headache, but when he tries to reach up to rub his temples, he notices that his hands are bound. Instantly, his confusion is washed out by adrenaline. Struggling, he fights against the restraints, knowing how easily metal bends and breaks under his strength. Whoever took him did their research, though, because his hands stay fixed at his sides.

A leather belt is strapped across his bare chest, but it gives easily when Steve tries to sit up. He manages to get halfway up and sees that he is naked all the way. His feet are shackled like his hands. The last thing he remembers is putting his plane into the ocean, but looking down at himself, there is not a single scratch on him, not a single scar.

“Stay down,” a voice calls from somewhere behind him, but Steve cannot even begin to try to find out who it is because sudden pain explodes in his head and shoots down his spine.

Before he knows what is happening, he is lying flat on the table again, the metal barely warmed from his body heat. Despite his best try to get up again, his body does not listen.

“Who –” Steve bites out, wishing for the pain to stop.

“Quiet now,” the voice speaks up again, almost gentle this time, although there is no mistaking this as anything but an order.

Steve’s mouth snap shut so quickly that he bites his tongue. He does not know where he is or who he is with. He is alive, though, and it is strangely soothing that blood still tastes the same.

Something is not right, and he does not mean having been taken and strapped to a table. It does not matter how much he strains, he cannot get his mouth to open again, cannot create a single sound.

The more he fights, the worse the pain gets, setting his brain and spine on fire. Only when he stops trying, needing to breathe more than to test his limits, does the pain slowly fade.

Something is controlling him, keeping him down and quiet with nothing but a few words. Steve closes his eyes. It feels like the ocean is still around him. Perhaps that would be kinder.

 

* * *

 

“They found him.”

If not for the alert on the screen in front of him, Tony would not have noticed Natasha arriving. Even with straining his ears and always keeping an eye on his surroundings, even with years of having her around, she still manages to elude him. He should probably mind that more than he does, but he is as certain of her allegiance as he can get. It is not as if she has much of a choice either way.

Tony finishes writing down formulas, double-checking that Natasha’s arrival has not made him slip up somewhere, before he saves his progress. Only then does he look up.

Natasha stands just to the right of his desk, between Tony and the door, half-angled to see anyone trying to get through. Her eyes, though, rest heavily on him. Nothing in her posture betrays urgency, but she knows better than to disturb him for trivial reasons. They have also managed to get to know each other a bit over the years.

Not saying anything, Tony inclines his head, signalizing that he is listening.

“They found Captain America,” she explains dutifully, not allowing a glimpse of what she is thinking about this to shine through her tone.

Tony himself stills. The very name has bitterness spreading on his tongue. Then again, it is fitting. Howard has started the manhunt for Steve Rogers, the ultimate symbol of heroism, and now Tony is going to set freedom to rest, once and for all.

“Book me first row seats for the funeral,” Tony orders dismissively.

They will have to turn this into something huge, so every important person in America can shake hands over Captain America’s grave and talk about tragedies, while the simple folk grieve for lost chances. There are still advantages to get from this. Rogers gets regularly dragged up as poster figure for all sides of every conflict in this country, perhaps even beyond. Who would dare to speak out against a spandex-clad hot blonde going around punching Nazis, after all? And now Tony has the chance to forever bind his name to that of everyone’s favourite hero.

“He’s alive,” Natasha says after an unnecessarily long pause, watching him with knowing eyes.

Only thanks to decades of training does Tony manage to keep his face clear of emotion. He is not sure what to think. Natasha is telling the truth, he can rely on that. There is no space for lies between them anymore, not coming from her.

That still complicates things. Captain America alive is, mildly put, a problem. Their world order is quite a bit different than what it was when Rogers put his plane down in the ocean. In a way, it is much simpler now, less prone to dissolve into chaos. Certain sacrifices had to be made for that. Freedom, for example, is rather overrated anyway. Tony doubts that Rogers will see it the same way, however.

“Why am I not surprised?” Tony mutters. Life is never simple, especially not for a man in his position. “Does anyone know yet?”

If they want to spin this to their advantage, they need to act fast. Tony has made good progress with that in the past. Otherwise, he would not have the Black Widow running errands for him. Truth be told, she would have likely succeeded in her mission to take him out, if Tony had not proven capable of thinking ahead.

“It was our expedition that found him,” Natasha says. She comes a step closer and gestures in the air so that a holoscreen pops up in front of Tony’s desk. It shows one of their ships on the left and a live feed on the right.

Captain America does not disappoint in regards to his physique. Even naked and strapped down to a table under artificial light and with cables connecting him to machines, he looks delectable. Truly the pinnacle of human evolution – or human engineering as it is.

Sweat glistens on his forehead, while his body is completely still but straining against it. His eyes are closed, as he is likely trying to make sense of the situation. Then, as if he knows he is being watched, Steve opens his eyes and stares ahead, straight at the camera hanging over him.

“Why, hello,” Tony says quietly, leaning forward to see better, utterly transfixed.

All politics aside, and consequences be damned, Tony knows that he needs Captain America to be his.

“Chip him,” Tony orders as he straightens. With a flick of his hand, the feed drops in with the screens to Tony’s right, in a comfortable height to keep glancing at it every now and then while he works. “We need to make sure that SHIELD doesn’t get their hands on him.”

Natasha does not show what she thinks of this, nor does she react at the mention of her old employer. All her judgement becomes obvious nonetheless when she asks, “Do you think this is a good idea? We don’t know how the serum will interact with it.”

It is not her place to question him, but Tony likes her quick thinking. She was trained to always be on the winning side, and since _his_ side is the only one she can be on anymore, he usually appreciates her input.

“It worked well enough with you,” Tony answers, smirking.

It is not quite the same. Whatever the Russians pumped into Natasha’s veins is much less potent than Erskine’s serum, but Tony trusts his own tech. It will either work on the good Captain, or Tony will improve it until it works. Once the world knows that Rogers is his, he will have enough time to work out the kinks.

“SHIELD will destroy him,” Tony continues, sounding unconcerned, although he really does not want to give his long-time adversaries any advantage. “So I’m willing to take the chance.”

The ongoing rivalry between SHIELD and him has kept him amused for years. They are clamouring for peace, while Tony is advertising the future where secret spy organizations, so afraid of progress being exploited that they stand in the way of it, are not needed anymore. They were once more than happy with working with Tony, but he does not do well with people telling him what to do. It is fitting, really, since the Binding chips are making Tony richer every day. He prefers himself in the position of the puppeteer, having been tangled up in strings for far too long.

“All right,” Natasha says, offering no further argument. “I’ll get it done.”

Natasha is a perfectionist. She was taught not to accept failures. So Tony would not be surprised if she collected Bruce from the lab downstairs and flew out to do the work herself. He will not even have to suggest it.

“Send him to me once you’re done,” Tony says, leaning back in his chair, already satisfied with this day. “I’ll handle this personally.”

If only Howard could see him right now. His disappointment of a son about to get what Howard always dreamed of. He will put a leash on Captain America. People will say that it is a power play, that Tony is simply grasping for more power. Maybe they will be right. What they cannot know, however, is that this is personal.

This is his childhood dream come true. Not only will he meet his hero. Despite what everybody always told him, Tony will be better than him too.

 

* * *

 

The next time Steve wakes up, a redheaded woman is in the room with him, watching him closely. He barely dares to move, remembering the pain from before vividly.

He is still in the same room, and still bound to the table, but the pain in his spine has faded to a low humming, and someone has been kind enough to put a blanket over him, covering him from the waist down. It does not make him feel less exposed but it helps keeping the cold at bay. The sensation of phantom waves tearing him under is not yet gone.

“You have been in the ice for nearly seventy years,” the woman says. While her tone is clipped and matter-of-factly, Steve is still soothed by her mere presence, so much so that the words do not register. “The war is over. The world is a different place now.”

Seventy years, Steve thinks but does not understand. That is a lifetime, and one he apparently did not get to live. Seventy years in ice. It is not real. Even with the serum. He crashed that plane, and whatever comes after death is simply different than he imagined it to be.

The room he is in could be anywhere. Any _time_ too, but Steve is used to dealing with facts not fantasies. The words and what he now suspects are his vital signs hovering in the air worry him, but he has seen Howard create wondrous things, and he has never been the most tech-savvy. None of this means he has, somehow, been encased in ice for seventy years, waiting to be found.

“Who are you?” Steve rasps. He tries not to show how relieved he is that he is able to speak again. His tongue still hurts from where he bit it.

The redhead cocks her head to the side, never once looking away from him. “Natasha,” she finally says. That is no all there is to it, Steve can sense that much, but she does not offer anything more. “You’re going to follow my orders.”

Steve wishes he could get a better look at her, but she sits at such an awkward angle to the table that he has to lay his head in his neck, thus baring his throat if he wants to see her. Instinct tells him that is not a good move around her.

“Why would I do that?” Steve asks, whishing he would sound more confident. He is still dizzy from what feels like having been sedated. He cannot remember falling asleep, cannot believe he would allow himself to be that vulnerable in obviously hostile surroundings.

“Let me rephrase that,” Natasha says with a hint of impatience in her tone, “it will be better for you if you follow my orders willingly. You ultimately have no choice, but you could make it easier on both of us.”

She is not making any sense. Also, he thinks bitterly amused, she does not know who she captured if she thinks he is going to simply do as she says. Even before he became Captain America, Steve was not known for following orders. On the contrary. Everybody knows he has a thing against bullies, and since it is often bullies who think they are in charge they are going to have a problem with each other.

“I’m not –” Steve begins, then thinks better of it. Better to find out what she wants first. “What are you talking about?”

Natasha nods as if she expected him to be difficult about this. “Sit,” she then orders dryly. Her expression is still completely impassive.

While Steve stares, the humming in the back of his head gets louder. The longer he refuses to move, the more painful it becomes, until it shoots down his spine, spelling agony all through him. Before it becomes unbearable, Steve stops fighting against his own body and sits up. Just like the last time he stopped struggling, the pain fades.

Natasha looks smaller when he looks at her now but he instinctively wants to recoil from her. A single word from her lips had set Steve’s entire being on fire, struggling to obey her and punishing him when he refused.

“What have you done to me?” Steve asks, panic rearing in the pit of his stomach. He cannot even begin to grasp what is happening.

He tries to lie back down, but his muscles are locked in place, keeping him in place under Natasha’s steely gaze. Steve looks down at himself, sees an IV line connecting him to what looks like a simple saline bag but that could be anything. Perhaps they have drugged him, thus making him compliant. The serum should take care of that, though. He should be resistant to mind-altering substances – perhaps they have created something just for him.

None of that explains the humming in the back of his head. It is less a physical thing than a feeling, something lying in wait, turning him into prey.

“As I said,” Natasha speaks up, sounding almost gentle now, “the world has changed.” Her eyes linger on Steve’s clenched hands, making him almost wish he could reach out for her. He is sure, though, that she would simply push him away – or break his fingers. She kind of has that look about her. 

“How?” Even if seventy years had truly passed, that is not an explanation for her apparent ability to command his body with nothing but her voice. Steve is not sure he wants to know, but he _needs_ to.  

“After you woke up, a chip was implanted in your brain. It binds you to your legal owner,” Natasha explains impassively, never missing a beat. “I’ll give you the manual later, but you basically do as commanded or you feel the consequences. The chip is a means of control, security and punishment. You cannot harm or fight the orders of whoever holds control of your chip. In return, all your needs are being seen to. It is a mutually beneficial arrangement.”

Again, Steve is rendered speechless. This time, though, there is no external force robbing him of his power to make sounds. Instead, he seriously feels like his sense of reality is slipping through his fingers. If not for the intense pain that is still echoing quietly under his skin, Steve might think he is asleep and simply trapped in a nightmare. Deep down, he knows it is something more sinister than that.

“My _owner_?” he asks, incredulous. There were a whole lot of information but Steve’s brain catches on that. The military liked to believe they owned him, but it was never put so bluntly before. Nobody owns him. Although, considering the way he has lost control over his body, Steve does not own himself anymore either. 

Natasha does not seem put off by his question. Inclining her head slightly, she says, “I can see why you might have qualms about the concept, but this is not like slavery of old. The Binding is widely socially accepted and comes with severe repercussion for both sides if the laws are disobeyed.”

Slavery, binding. Steve clenches his eyes shut, feeling like he should laugh. This is a joke. It must be. Perhaps he is still asleep at the bottom of the ocean. Perhaps seventy years – _seventy_! – encased in ice have damaged even his serum-protected brain. A thousand different scenarios are more likely than America undoing all the progress it made by returning to slavery.

“But –”

“Listen,” Natasha says, and Steve’s words die on his tongue. “I’m not here to hold your hand through this. We have several hours of flight ahead of us. I’ll let you read up on your new reality.” Whatever trace of sympathy might have been on her face, by now it is completely vanished, giving way to the expressionless mask Steve had woken up to. “Until then, I need you to cooperate.”

“So you’re my –” Even thinking the word _owner_ has Steve feeling nauseous. Every breath he takes tastes of hysteria.

“No.” Something almost like a smirk flits over Natasha’s lips, but it is gone as quickly as it came. “We are bound to the same person. I have simply been ordered to bring you to him and have therefore temporary authority over you.”

“Who are you – are we –” Again, Steve’s tongue struggles to say the words. This time, Natasha waits, watching him with curiosity. She likely knows that saying these things out loud is the first step of accepting them. Steve wants to prove her wrong, wants to show that he is stronger than that. “Who are we bound to then?”

“Tony Stark. You’ve known his father Howard.” Natasha answers lightly. It is impossible to gauge what she thinks of the man, but Steve can barely believe what he is hearing. Howard was a good person, so why would his son allow himself to be dragged into promoting slavery?

Steve opens his mouth to ask more questions, but Natasha gets up. There is no mistaking the grace to the movement. She is not just a pretty face but a fighter.

“Lie down,” she orders, and this time Steve is still too baffled from the information he just got to fight, so his body simply gives out until his back is pressed against the metal surface again. The humming in the back of his head grows satisfied. “Now, hold still.”

All out of choices, Steve does.

 

* * *

 

On their flight – no one tells him where they are going – Steve tries to read up on what has happened to the world he has once saved, fully convinced that it was _worth_ saving. Every word in the colourful pamphlets makes him doubt that more, however.

The way the authors put it, America has slowly been building a utopia. Conflict, no matter how big, or so they say, is built on the back of poverty and famine and greed. A society run on the need to make always more money cannot be happy. Instead, it exploits its members to the last, making all physical labour, even though it is vital, undesirable and not enough to feed a family.

So someone came up with the brilliant idea to bring back unity by literally binding people together, promising a certain standard of life in exchange for work. And obedience, of course, although that is described as more of a failsafe, a guarantee for the ones carrying society on their backs by caring for the broad masses.

There are laws, as Natasha pointed out. No permanent harm is to come to the Bound. They must not be killed or ordered to do things beyond reason or commit crimes on behalf of their owners. There are rules against sexual exploitation and guidelines for reasonable punishments. Being bound for life is uncommon.

It reads like bad dystopian literature, but each time Steve looks up to ask clarification on something, his lips refuse to work and warning pain spreads out from the base of his spine. At least she has allowed him to put on some clothes, even if a set of chains came with it.  

Having supposedly been asleep for seventy years – which becomes more and more possible the more Steve sees of the available tech at hand – is nothing compared to what his future has apparently turned into. The ice must have slowly chipped away Steve’s sanity, there is no other reasonable explanation.

Hopefully, he is soon going to wake up for real.

 

* * *

 

The guards bring Captain America in in chains. Regular handcuffs apparently did not do the job, and his wrists are an angry red from straining to get free. Tony leans back in his chair as the good Captain is dragged before his desk.

In person, he looks much more impressive than on a screen. His muscles bulge, his legs automatically seek a defensive position. The eyes are the most impressive thing about him; ice-blue, calculating, and yet so very lost, grieving although he cannot yet know the entirety of what he has lost.

He does not struggle, but one of the guards has a split lip and murder written all over his face. Natasha is nowhere in sight, but JARVIS informed Tony that she returned safely. Missions that leave the target alive always seem to make her restless.

“He resisted transport, sir,” one of the guards reports, throwing dirty glances at their cargo.

Tony allows himself to smile. They must have been rude to Natasha. One order from her and the good Captain would have trailed after them like a house-broken dog. It seemed they needed to learn a lesson, and Nat is usually more than happy to deliver those.

“I am not surprised,” Tony says, deciding to take care of that matter some other time. Natasha can handle herself. “He was advertised as rather insubordinate.”

As he looks at Captain America, Tony realizes that Howard was right: Tony will never be like this man. There is an art to standing tall in the face of adversity, to never backing down, and Howard never quite managed to beat that out of Tony, but the fire in Steve’s eyes holds an entirely different quality to it. It is tinged with desperation in almost equal amounts as with determination.

They scrutinize each other. Tony looks for the man his father had loved so much, while Steve is certainly looking for resemblances to Howard in Tony. They are both disappointed. It takes them only a moment to decide that they will not like each other. Tony guesses that dragging someone before him in chains is not a good prelude to any kind of relationship, but he too is disappointed. Thankfully, Tony did not want to have Steve for himself to get a friend.

Before him, Steve’s lips pull into a snarl. “Why don’t you take these off and find out?” he asks, raising his hands up in front of him. The chains rattle and Tony fights down the urge to laugh.

He likes challenges and this promises to be a wonderful one.

One of the guards step forward and aims a quick punch at Steve’s kidney. “Show some respect, dog.”

Steve winces as if he is already bruised there, but that does not stop him from whirling around, his hands still up in the air. No one has any illusion that, chains or not, he can do real damage here. The rest of the men straighten.

Any other time, it might have been entertaining to watch Captain America brawl, but Tony is a busy man, and he does not fancy having to find new guards. He might have to talk to them later about not damaging his property. Especially when that turns it so solidly against him.

“Enough,” Tony says. His voice is calm, almost bored, but issues an unmistakeable order.

The guards fall in line immediately, while it takes Steve a bit longer, face crunching up in pain. Then his shoulders fall and he glares balefully at everyone around him before he turns back towards Tony.

“You really have a lot to learn,” Tony adds with a sigh, then waves at the guards. “Leave us.”

They shuffle out of the door, some looking relieved, others hateful. It seems as if Steve has already made friends. As long as they get the job done Tony wants them to do, he does not care for their personal relationships. Keeping an eye on all of his employees would be a hopeless endeavour.

Once they are alone, Tony looks Steve up and down again. He is so very satisfied with having fished the Captain out of the ocean before SHIELD or the government that he could cackle with glee. He is not sure why he even kept funding those search expeditions, but they certainly paid off now. Steve might promise to be unruly and difficult, but the mere advantages of having his face associated with Tony’s will be worth the trouble.

“Now, I don’t know how much you’ve been told,” Tony says in a conversational tone. To him, there is nothing out of the ordinary with talking to chained man in his office at the top of his tower. Steve’s glare intensifies. “Natasha is effective, but she does not talk much when she does not have to.”

Steve moves his jaw as if he is mulling over several possible responses. Getting thrown into a situation like this – waking up after a manoeuvre that meant certain death and seventy years out of his time to boot, only to be dressed up in chains and presented to someone like an animal – must be overwhelming. Tony wonders whether Steve would have crashed that plane had he known where it would get him. Then again, he does not know anything yet. Reality has not had a chance to sink in.

“You are Howard’s son?” Steve then asks, each word dragging over his lips as if he would prefer to hurl them but is holding himself back.

Tony’s lips automatically form a brilliant smile, hiding the fact that he is sorely tempted to bring Steve to the ground, writhing in pain, with a single word. It is his press smile, reserved for any and all questions and comparisons to his father. Despite everything Tony has done to get rid of Howard’s shadow, it will forever linger around his shoulders.

“I am Tony Stark,” Tony introduces himself, deciding to let the issue go for now.

Instead, he busies himself watching Steve for a reaction, sees the miniscule flinch only because he waits for it. Tony knows the feeling that must be spreading through Steve right now, that slight tremble urging him to obey, the alluring compulsion at hearing Tony’s name. This new generation of chips are ingenious indeed.

“Is Howard –”

“Dead,” Tony cuts him off with a curt tone, allowing himself to remember the satisfaction of seeing his father lowered into the cold December ground. That had been a job well done. “He’s the reason you’re here. It was unlikely that you’d ever be found, but he still called dibs on you. Paid a fortune, although that’s nothing compared to how much you’re worth now.”

This is not entirely correct. Howard did pay good money to get a chance to have Steve all for himself. In some twisted way, Tony is sure, however, that he meant to save Steve by that. Howard always thought him more important than his own son, so that should not surprise anyone. It will not hurt to keep quiet about that detail. Let Steve think that Howard intended exactly this, Captain America in chains, beholden to him.

“How?” Steve asks, never specifying what he means. There is likely a myriad of questions begging to be asked. He should better get used to acting as he is told instead of gathering information and decide afterwards.

“I guess Natasha told you about the chip?” Tony asks, waiting for an affirmative nod. “I control it. Howard bought you, but since he’s dead, you belong to me now.”

The rush of excitement at that surprises Tony. It is not as if ordering Steve around will magically make up for his childhood. He has loved Captain America, growing up, and then hated him for the longest time. That cannot be erased. Tony is an opportunist, however, and there are many advantages to be had from this situation.

“Howard would not have condoned slavery,” Steve says, full of stubborn insistence.

Unable to help himself, Tony laughs. He is well aware of the edge accompanying the sound, and the way his hands are clenched. If only someone would figure out a way to raise the dead, so he could have Howard murdered all over again. Slower, this time.

“Your precious Howard _made_ this world,” Tony says, perhaps unnecessarily harsh. The sooner Steve understands that no mention of Howard Stark will be tolerated in this tower, the better for everyone involved. “Also, we don’t call it slavery. It’s certainly more elegant these days.”

It truly is, although the principle is the same, of course. Regulations and laws are only effective if people stick to them.

“The people cannot be all right with that,” Steve protests.

He stands tall, unhindered by the chains around his wrists and ankles, as if his future is simply a distant possibility instead of the inevitable next step. Natasha will have made sure that he read up on what life is like these days, and while those stupid pamphlets are full of propaganda they put down the rules quite clearly. Steve has a chip in his brain, which means that he belongs to Tony, body and soul.

It might be kinder on all of them to ease Steve into this, but Tony has never been a patient man. He does not believe in whitewashing reality. They all have to adjust to what life throws at them. Just because Tony is at the very top now, does not mean that he has not mingled at rock bottom with all the other miserable creatures once. He has earned his victory, so he is not going to let it be taken from him.

“Now, Captain,” Tony says, emphasizing Steve’s former title in a sickly-sweet tone. “I know you’re from another time, but the nice thing here is that a man does not have to listen to opinions other than his own in his house.” Some earn that privilege, but all of them have proven themselves to him first. “I don’t care what you’re thinking in that pretty little head of yours, as long as you keep it to yourself and stay in line.”

He could have issued an order or underlined his words with some warning tendrils of electricity down Steve’s spine, but he is curious as to how long Steve will fight.

Unsurprisingly, Steve straightens his shoulders, staring at Tony like he is nothing but dirt under his shoes. “It’s wrong,” he declares haughtily.

Again, Tony wants to laugh. Does Steve think he will change anything by shouting his opinion into a void?

“Is it, though?” Tony asks, deciding to humour Steve for a moment longer. “Crime rates and poverty are down. We have mandatory education that does not bury people under debts. There are ways out.”

Not for Steve, but Tony keeps that to himself. Freedom can be bought or granted, contracts can run out. Steve has no social standing whatsoever, though. The moment he let Erskine inject that serum, he stopped being a person in his own right and became property of the United States of America, although no one said as much back then. Now, Steve Rogers is long dead, and Tony has no intention of letting Captain America slip through his fingers any time soon.

“It’s slavery,” Steve insists, causing Tony to roll his eyes.

“Only that you have rights now,” he points out in a bored tone. “And we got rid of the collars. Nothing puts a hamper on things like the constant clinking of chains when the staff moves around.”

With the look of someone who has swallowed something bitter, Steve asks, “What’s going to stop you from shutting me up if I say something you don’t like?”

Tony did not peg him as someone eager to punish himself, but what else could this be? They both know the answer to that question. Still, Tony decides to indulge him.

“Now that you mention it,” Tony smirks, making no secret of his joy over this situation, “absolutely nothing.” There would be no fun in that, however. Where is the point in obedience if it is forced?

“How can you not see that this is wrong?”

The thing is, Tony does see it, has experienced it, too. Their system is far from perfect, but so has every single one that came before.

“This is your life now, Captain,” Tony says not unkindly. “You had better get used to it. Or I could arrange for another nap in the ice and only defrost you when I have need of you.”

That would be too much work and not enough fun, but Steve does not need to know that. Instead, Tony thinks it points out rather nicely that he is the one in charge here.

“Don’t call me that,” Steve growls, his face moving suddenly from offended to pained. Tony makes a mental note of having found Steve’s first sore spot.

“What? _Captain_?” Tony draws out the tile just because he can, makes a mockery of it, especially compared to the reverence with which Howard used to say it. “I can call you whatever I want to.”

“It’s –”

“Enough.” Tony is sure that Steve has a legitimate reason to not want to hear himself called by a title that must remind him of everything he has lost. Things will be difficult enough between them to make concessions so early, however. Tony is not a fool, he knows how to handle himself. “I’ve indulged you this far because you are new to our way of life. This stops now. I heard you were pretty adaptable, so adapt. I expect obedience from now on.”

A lovely shade of red spreads on Steve’s face, even as his eyes grow even colder in anger. He takes a rattling step forward, closer to the desk. His intent is rather obvious – Tony has dealt with enough people wanting to strangle him to not recognize the look. Smirking, Tony gets more comfortable in his chair and watches Steve come towards him.

First, Steve moves with burning determination, but he does not make it halfway to the desk before his legs start trembling with the effort of simply putting one foot in front of the other. The blood drains out of his face, and still he keeps coming. To give him credit, he makes it far enough to catch himself on the edge of the desk before he can crash to the ground.

Steve stares in horror at his shaking hands, likely not able to comprehend why his own body is betraying him like this. He keeps struggling, thus making the pain worse, until he is on his knees in front of the desk, glancing up at Tony with murder in his eyes.

“What?” Steve bites out between clenched teeth.

“You cannot harm me,” Tony answers with a smile, too satisfied with the display to hide his glee. “If you come towards me with the intention to hurt, the chip will stop you.” He rises to his feet, which brings him incidentally a bit closer to Steve, so that a new wave of pain has him cowering. “I’d prefer if you wouldn’t push this far enough to permanently damage my property. I have been waiting for you so very long, after all.”

He walks around the table, and pets Steve’s head with the kind of grandfatherly gesture Obie had perfected, ignoring the whimpers his touch causes.

“Someone will come to show you around,” Tony says as he walks towards the door. It is no mistake that he turns his back to Steve, showing just how little he is concerned for his safety. “Don’t touch any of my stuff. Don’t harm anyone. I’ll give you two days to settle in. After that, I expect you to report to me in the morning.”

Humming under his breath, Tony leaves his office in the best mood he has been in for a while. Before he turns around a corner, he glances back. Steve is still on the ground in front of Tony’s desk, his head buried in his hands, his shoulders rigid.

Tony should probably have more sympathy for someone thrown in chains at his feet. What little there is, however, pales in comparison to the searing triumph warming his chest.

Despite being glad that Howard is long since buried, Tony wishes he could see this. Once, Howard expected to rule the world with Captain America by his side. If Tony played a role in those fantasies at all, he was never anywhere near them.

How the tables have turned.


	2. Chapter 2

The quarters assigned to Steve are surprisingly comfortable. They are several floors beneath Stark’s penthouse, but spacey and fitted with everything he might need, from extra blankets to clothes. He has his own bathroom and tall windows overlooking the city. It frankly makes no sense, considering that he still feels the humming of the chip and his wrists, while being long healed, still itch with the phantom weight of chains around them.

Steve is certainly no guest and not a welcome addition to the household either, considering the heavy looks people give him when he ventures out of his room, but he does not quite feel like a slave either. Although he undeniably is.

Stark’s last commands still echo in the back of his head. Whenever someone makes a rude comment and Steve wants to rise to settle the issue, his muscles lock him in place. The same happens when someone shoulders past him in the hallway or _accidentally_ shoves him. _Don’t harm anyone_ obviously means he is not to defend himself either.

What bothers him most is that he is never alone. First, armed guards take him to his room and then stand guard _inside_ the door. Later, Natasha appears again, still as unflappable and unmoved by his questions. He is escorted from and to his room, has someone hovering over his shoulder every minute of every day. His last companion, though, is someone he might come to like.

Clint Barton, or Hawkeye as he introduced himself. At some point, Steve needs to find out what the deal is with the nicknames – Natasha has been called Widow by too many people for it to be a coincidence. Clint is cheerful and unafraid and carries himself with the confidence of someone comfortable in his own skin. He confuses Steve to no end, because he does not seem to fit into the picture Steve has of this world. Then again, nothing but Stark himself does.

He knows that Clint is chipped, just like Natasha. Probably a number of the guards and employees are as well. None of them seem bowed under that burden, no one questions it. Steve has not been outside of the tower of course, but everything here is shiny and harmonious and not at all like Steve thinks it should be.

“I don’t know how you can stand it,” Steve says as he follows Clint back to his room from the gym.

It must be the hundredth time he has mentioned something along these lines, intent on needling Clint into a confession or at least some further information about all of this. There has to be something more sinister beneath the glittering surface.

“Stark’s not so bad,” Clint answers, still patient with Steve, although all their conversations run in circles. “You don’t have to suffer here if you just stop to expect everything to go bad at any given moment.”

Also for the hundredth time, Steve mutters, “It’s slavery.”

He is clinging to that protest with all his might. Just because he has not seen any actual abuse yet does not mean it is not there. He remembers the pain shooting through him well enough and the way his body refuses to listen to him. It is not right, no matter that they hide behind laws and so-called principles. A person is not something to be owned.

“So what?” Clint asks. His cheerful tone has just a hint of steel in it. “Most people do not even want to be free. Life is so much easier if someone else is responsible for you.”

“How would they know?” Steve asks, refusing to believe that Clint means what he says. No one could be happy being told where to go and what to do, without the freedom to say no.

“Lifelong servitude is uncommon. There are always ways out.” That sounds like it comes straight from the brochure.

Snorting bitterly in response, Steve says. “And then they won’t be able to support themselves and have to go back.” He has seen that growing up, young men joining the military to support their families. It is doubtful that any of that has become easier. “That’s not freedom. That’s simply a way to keep people compliant.”

Clint stops in the hallway to look at Steve with a serious face. “I’m not saying that all of this is perfect. But Stark has done a lot to make things better.” When Steve raises an eyebrow in open scepticism, Clint starts counting off his fingers. “He made sure that every child can go to school, that children are not automatically property of their parents’ owners, that everybody with a brain gets to use it. We have a kind of pension system in place.”

“Are you honestly defending him?” Steve snaps, not caring for his rudeness.

This time when Clint looks at him, it is with obvious pity. “It could be much worse.”

Groaning in frustration, Steve runs a hand through his hair. The humming inside his head is getting louder, buzzing like an angry bee. It always does when Steve even thinks about fighting this new life he has found himself in.

“So Stark pretends to care for our ultimately insignificant lives, and you don’t protest when he bleeds you dry,” Steve scoffs, wondering whether he is truly the only one seeing how very wrong all of this is. “That’s the deal?”

They are not far from Steve’s room, but when Clint looks around to check, no one is near and stays right where he is in the hallway – Steve is not naïve enough to think that there is no surveillance in his room – he thinks he might have finally managed to make Clint confide in him.

“Rumour has it that Stark’s been on our side of things, before there were most of today’s rules in place.” Much quieter, he adds, “He certainly has the scars to back that up.”

Steve is disappointed. Instead of something to work with, Clint is feeding him lies about Stark’s supposed sympathy for the downtrodden. By now, Steve knows that Stark Industries is behind developing and manufacturing the control chips, that Stark is the very puppeteer of this nation. There are other people responsible too, and he might not have started it, but Stark is certainly not making anything better.

“How?” Steve asks nonetheless. All information might be useful sooner or later.

“Let’s just say that we should all be glad that he’s in charge now, instead of old Howard Stark.”

Unable to do anything but stare, Steve tries to wrap his head around the fact that everyone seems to view Howard as the devil impersonate these days. He is a persona non grata in this tower, but it is human nature to gossip, and since Steve appears to have been Howard’s greatest obsession, it is not so surprising that his sudden arrival has set the rumour mill in motion.

“Howard wouldn’t –” Steve protests, mostly out of habit anymore, but Clint cuts him off and starts walking again.

“No disrespect, Steve, but after you went down in the ice, the world went to shit. And some people went to shit with it.” He manages to sound utterly unconcerned about that. Then again, the war had just been a normal part of everybody’s life in the forties too.

“But Stark –” Steve tries because he _has_ to.

“Under all that bluster and posing, he cares,” Clint says like he means it. “Probably more than anybody else. And now I don’t want to hear any more about how wrong all of this is. You won’t save anyone by scowling. And those of us in this house don’t need any saving at all.”

With that, Clint fastens his pace and turns away from Steve, clearly showing that he is serious about this. While he has not issued a direct order – as one of the people who have limited control over Steve he certainly could have – Steve’s tongue turns sluggish in his mouth, unwilling to cooperate when he does not want to drop the topic as asked.

For a long moment, Steve contemplates fighting, to push the issue, but Clint seems like a good man and enough of an ally that Steve does not want to turn him against himself. He is already completely alone in this new world. He should not make everything worse for himself.

 

* * *

 

The next time Steve is brought before Tony Stark, the man looks different. Gone is the three-piece suit and the sunglasses. Instead, he wears some ratty shirt and stained jeans. His beard is still immaculate and his smirk more satisfied than ever. He still looks at Steve like he is a priceless piece of furniture he got at an auction.

A shiver runs down Steve’s spine and he hates the fact that he cannot tell whether that is instinct or the chip trying to tell him something.

“Thank you,” Stark nods at Clint, who has accompanied Steve here. “Have a nice weekend.”

“I will.” Clint grins, completely unaffected by Stark’s presence. “You two have fun.”

Despite Clint’s continued disinterest in seeing reason, Steve hates to see him go. He does not want to be left alone with Stark. As with everything now, he does not get a choice.

“Don’t tell me we’re getting weekends off?” Steve asks when they are alone, not bothering to hold back the sarcasm.

Other than a sharp look, Stark lets it slide. “Clint does. He’s got family out in the country.”

That makes sense. If Stark is holding Clint’s family hostage, it is no surprise that he does not want to talk about their situation. Instantly, Steve feels bad about pushing. He had not known he would put innocent people at risk with it.

“Now, come,” Stark orders before Steve can think of something to say.

Steve falls into step with Stark without struggling. Countless people have tried to teach him to choose his battles, and he is trying to heed their words.

“Where are we going?” he asks and keeps his tone neutral and a good few feet between them. He remembers vividly what happened the last time he got too close to Stark.

“You are going wherever I tell you to go,” Stark answers shortly. Then he clicks his tongue, although that does not seem to be directed at Steve. “I trust that Clint showed you around the tower.”

The pause suggests that Stark is waiting for an answer, so Steve says, “He did,” although the tower is still a veritable maze to him. He can find his way from the gym to the kitchen well enough, but there are floors upon floors here. It is unlikely that he will be asked to navigate them, though. He is Captain America, not a secretary or engineer, after all, and Stark appears to have enough work for several trained fighters, considering how many are present in the tower at all times.

“Very good. The top floors is where I live. You won’t have much reason to go there.” At that, Steve can barely suppress a relieved sigh, which has Stark chuckling. “Beneath that is my workshop, where I spend most of my time. That’s where we’re going for now.”

Steve is tempted to ask what Stark needs him for there, but he is afraid the answer will have something to do with the chip in his brain. While he can barely think about anything but that, he would like nothing more than to forget about that particular nightmare. If Stark wants to strap him down and do some other unspeakable thing to him, which Steve will not be able to fight, he would prefer to not know about it beforehand. That would only make him complicit if he kept following after Stark anyway, whether he has a choice or not.

They end up in front of a glass wall, which does not seem very secure, but what lies beyond has Steve’s steps falter. He remembers Howard’s lab and how full of wonders it had been, full of ideas Steve’s own brain could never come up with but that Howard had already made real.

Even from a distance, Tony’s place is on a whole other level. If Steve still had doubts about having slept for seventy years, this would be the final proof. In fact, it feels like seventy years are not enough to produce something like this.

A multitude of holoscreens float in the room, displaying all kinds of simulations and formulas, documentation and predictions. The very layout of the room is comfortable and elegant, no matter the mess of parts and tools.

A man moves around inside and several somethings that looks like walking arms. No heads, no eyes. Robots. With sudden longing, Steve wishes that Bucky could be here and see this. He had been the one interested in science, while Steve had always been the more artistic type. That is enough, though, to fall a little bit in love with this place.

“You don’t have authorization to come here without me,” Stark’s voice cuts through Steve’s musings. A certain smugness accompanies his voice, and when Steve looks at him, he has a smile on his face, taking in his kingdom beyond. “If I were to need you anyway, JARVIS can let you in.”

Steve has already met the AI and is horribly wary of it. The voice in the ceiling, all-seeing, all-powerful. The worst thing by far is that it can activate the chip in his brain, which Steve found out by going where he was not allowed.

Stark presses his hand on a box next to the door and looks impatiently at a screen scanning his eye. The whole scene does not have a practiced air to it but feels like something Stark only does for show, as if to prove how well-protected his fortress is. Steve wonders what Stark thinks he could do in there other than accidentally destroy things and possibly kill himself.

When the door opens, Stark strides into the workshop like a man come home, taking a deep breath before he moves over to the other occupant of the room. The smile on his face and the relaxed line of his shoulder make him almost human.

“Brucie-bear,” Stark exclaims cheerfully, sidling up to the man who looks much more like a scientist than Stark himself.

For one, he is in a lab-coat and is wearing tidier clothes underneath. The eyes beneath his glasses are friendly and curious. Altogether, he appears the most unthreatening person Steve has met in this tower.

“This is Dr Banner,” Stark introduces shortly. “He is brilliant. Don’t upset him.”

With a sigh, Banner looks at Stark with exhausted familiarity. “I wish you would stop introducing me like that.”

“Do we need to have that talk about your intelligence again?” Stark shoots back without hesitation.

They stare at each other, the remnants of an old argument hanging between them, tinged with obvious fondness for each other.

Before they can hash it out, Stark points at Steve with an expression that Steve cannot quite interpret but that he doubts is positive. “And this is our all-American wonder boy, saved by global warming.”

Banner appears to be used to Stark’s behaviour, for he barely reacts to it, and instead offers his hand to Steve, who shakes it gladly. “Bruce. Don’t let Tony fool you. You have been missed and looked for.”

While Steve is not sure what Banner wants to tell him with that, he is sure that it is meant kindly, so he nods his thanks. He cannot help but feel comfortable around this man, despite knowing nothing about him. Contrary to all the fighters and business people in the building, he appears like the calm before the storm.

“If there is danger, he is a priority,” Stark chimes in again, effectively destroying the relaxing effect Banner’s smiles had on Steve.

That piece of information is nonetheless interesting. Stark could simply try to protect the brains of an employee, of course, but the interactions between them seem too amicable for that.

“I don’t –” Banner begins protesting immediately but is cut off by Stark, who barely glances at him, his eyes still on Steve, projecting the importance of his words.

“Otherwise, you are to follow his instructions unless they directly contradict mine.”

The weight of the order settles heavily on Steve’s shoulders. For a moment, he has forgotten why he is here. His hands reach automatically to the base of his skull, where the humming of the chip is the loudest. The small scar is too smooth for him to feel, but the skin is constantly burning and cold to the touch.

“Or what, are you going to bind me to him too?” Steve regrets the words as soon as they are over his lips. They are bitter enough to shatter all of the warmth in the room, as Banners’ eyes fill with sympathy, and Stark scowls at Steve. Warnings whisper in the back of Steve’s mind, but he has never been one to back down, not even from his own mistakes, so he sticks his chin out and waits for judgement.

Curiously enough, Stark’s features settle into something amused if sharp-edged. “That would be an interesting experiment but my schedule is already full.” Of course, why would human experimentation be something Stark would have scruples about? “No, Brucie is bound to me too, but he ranks above you. I just need you to be aware of the hierarchy.”

Surprise fills Steve at that. None of Banner’s smiles seemed forced, and their banter was friendly. Then again, neither Natasha nor Clint seemed very bothered by being enslaved by Stark either.

Steve has to swallow a bout of inappropriate laughter. He is well aware of the hierarchy. Everybody ranks above him. He is at the very bottom of things, and the only one who still thinks all of this wrong to boot.

“Do you chip all of your friends?” he asks bitterly, idly wondering why Stark has not yet ordered him to stop speaking. “I guess they wouldn’t stay around otherwise.”

It is Banner who seems ready to rise to Stark’s defence, a frown on his face that makes him look considerably less friendly. Stark holds him back with a light touch to his arm, though, his eyes worried. When he turns back to Steve, however, the familiar smirk is back on his lips, utterly unapologetic.

“My, you do have a bite,” he says cheerfully. “With a bit of training, I might even be able to take you to parties without having to fear them devouring you within the first two minutes.”

While he sounds strangely satisfied, Steve is at a loss what to make of that comment. As an essential slave, surely Stark wants him to keep his head down and say nothing, and especially not to be snarky to potential guests or powerful people at high society events. Instead of slowly figuring thing out, this world seems to make less sense the more Steve sees of it.

Before he can ask – and possibly make Stark angry after all – Banner steps in. “Tony,” he says with what appears to be a light warning in his tone.

“You spoil all my fun,” Stark whines, blinking at Banner with overdone innocence.

Banner shows himself unmoved. “We don’t need another international incident.”

Face morphing into an expression of dismay, Stark says, “That was _one_ time.”

“I remember at least four,” Banner replies with a grin. “And that’s only since I’m in New York.”

None of their interaction fits the reality of their relationship – not, in any case, the way Steve would expect it to. If Steve had not been told about Banner being chipped too, they could simply be old friends hashing out the same old arguments with increasing fondness.

“Whatever, I guess.” Tony gestures dismissively. Then his entire demeanour changes again from playful to something more serious but just as eager. “Now, what do you have for me?”

As Banner turns to the screen next to him, his eyes fall on Steve again, and his expression morphs into something nearly embarrassed. “Do you perhaps want to send Captain Rogers somewhere more comfortable?”

Steve finds himself wanting to protest. He has nowhere else to be but his room or the gym. Being bored is likely better than being ordered around, but he finds himself seriously interested in watching the work that gets done in here.

For once, Stark’s refusal to accommodate other people’s potential needs works out in Steve’s favour, for he shakes his head outright refusing Banner’s request. “He’s not tamed yet,” he says dryly, which has Steve bristling although he tries to conceal it. “He’s already sent three security men to the hospital before J put a stop to it. And I need to restock the gym before I can let him demolish anymore punching bags. So, since everyone else is busy, he’s going to stay with me for the time being.”

Heat rises up Steve’s neck, and he almost ducks his head. None of that is his fault, and yet he feels it is. Those men kept jostling him around on his way back to his room after dinner, confident in Steve inactiveness during past encounters. With enough determination, Steve found that Stark’s order not to harm anyone could be bypassed once he convinced himself he was in true danger. One word from the AI JARVIS had sent him down on his knees, heaving, and certain that his spine was being torn apart. At least the men were suitably banged up at that point to not take revenge on his all but immobile body.

“I guess you have ordered him not beat up your men again,” Banner points out, sounding not overly concerned with the prospect of Steve sending people to the hospital. Still, he does not look at Steve.

“Yes, but that doesn’t stop people from pushing him,” Stark says, strangely introspective. He seems to always expect the worst from Steve, so it is surprising not to be blamed for this. “I don’t need him to get a conniption from fighting against my orders. Or for his image to take a hit because some grunts in my own tower beat him up because they are afraid of him.”

Of course. This is all about appearances, Steve should have known. For some reason, Stark thinks he can use Steve’s status as Captain America for his own gain. Since he was a symbol for freedom once, Steve is not quite sure how Stark wants to exploit that, considering the world they live in, but then Steve does not understand this time at all.

“He is right here,” Steve says, sick with being ignored and talked about. He is aware that he should better get used to that, but he cannot give up all of his battles at once.

“Shh. Rule number seven.” Stark turns to smirk at Steve. “Don’t speak when the adults are talking.”

It is not an order. Stark says it with a good amount of humour in his voice and the humming in Steve’s brain does not change. He simply cannot figure Stark out. One moment he is all jokes and smiles, the next cold and sharp-edged. He is very adamant on making it clear that he does not like Steve, and yet he sometimes looks at him with the kind of hopeful anticipation that Steve knows not at all what to do with.

Deciding to test the waters, Steve says, “Stark –”

He does not get any farther, though, because Stark’s face darkens immediately. “Stop,” he snaps, and there is no mistaking that for anything but an order.

Pain stabs through Steve’s skull, more as a warning than punishment, because it fades quickly when Steve makes no move to say anything else. He does not think he will ever get used to that.

“Anyway,” Stark turns back towards Banner once he is satisfied that Steve is suitably reminded of his place. “Let’s pick up where we left off yesterday.”

Just like that, Steve becomes invisible. Banner throws him a last apologetic look – and means it too – but then the two men are off. Steve does not understand even half of what they are telling each other, throwing technical terms around and occasionally real tools.

The walking arms that Steve had seen from outside appear to fare much better than Steve, because they react promptly when either of the men talk to them. They have names too, although Steve is too fascinated with the real fondness in Stark’s voice to learn to tell them apart.

He cannot say what they are working on, or if they are even working on the same project the whole time they are there, but it is beautiful to watch.

In here, with no one to order him around, watching two men in their element, actively building fantastic things, Steve feels like the future could not be so bad. Even so, he knows that he will have to wake up soon and return to reality, but for now, allowed to simply be, he is almost content.

 

* * *

 

In a suit, Steve looks utterly perfect. It is a good thing that Tony does not have to hide his leer, because he might have needed all of his impressive acting skills to appear unaffected when Steve joins him in the garage on their way to a charity event of the Maria Stark Foundation. The suit is naturally specifically tailored, but no one could have predicted how all those muscles would look clad in fine dark cloth and a modern cut. It is almost enough to make Tony reconsider his plans for the evening. Peeling Steve out of those clothes would definitely be more satisfying than making small talk with the rich and powerful.

Alas, Tony does not do things like that. More than enough people are willing to sleep with him of their own free will, so he is not going to exploit someone whose _no_ he could so easily turn into a _yes_ with nothing more than a simple order. Steve would never come to him willingly, sadly. The animosity between them is real and ever worsening, or so it seems. Well, at least Tony can look.

They drive in silence. Steve’s eyes are glued to the city beyond the window. Tony almost asks him about all the differences he spots. This is the first time Steve is outside the tower. The city must look changed enough from above, but being close enough to touch must really drive the point home that seventy years have passed without Steve being there to witness them.

All of this would be easier if Tony knew how to talk to Steve, to Captain America. People are not his forte. Not any meaningful connection at least, compared to mindless talks about business and the weather and getting what he wants. Tony can be charming and demanding and unmovable.

He has still not stopped thinking about what Steve said to him in the lab that first time he took him. _Do you chip all of your friends?_ It is an unfortunate truth that all the people Tony is close to these days were once bound to him.

First Rhodey in college, found and paid for by Howard to keep an eye on Tony. That had mostly backfired because, when Tony had found out that Rhodey was chipped and ordered to be his friend, he had nearly levelled the labs at MIT during his historical temper tantrum. He still cannot explain why Rhodey decided to stick around afterwards, to make a truth out of the lie, but he is eternally glad for it anyway.

Pepper was all Tony’s decision. It is not unusual to bind one’s PA to oneself, simply to reduce the chance of corporate espionage. They had grown into something more than simple colleagues, and she, too, had stayed once he removed her chip.

While he is never sure whether he should think of Natasha as a friend, she is certainly among the people he trusts to a certain point. He bought her off SHIELD after they sent her to spy on him and possibly take him out if he showed signs of becoming too powerful. Clint simply was part of the package deal, and they are certainly friendly enough.

Bruce, of course, is an exception to all rules. Tony picked him up while he was on the run from Ross and, when they hit it off immediately, decided to stand surety for him. The chip they implanted in Bruce is mostly a guarantee for the government that Tony is not going to let the Hulk run rampage in the city, as well as an experimental means for Bruce to control when the Hulk can appear. In Tony’s opinion, all of that would be easier if Bruce simply accepted that the Hulk is a part of him, but contrary to Tony’s approach to science and experiments, Bruce likes his contingencies and safety protocols. Still, Bruce might be the only person who was Tony’s friend before he got his chip implanted.

This small group stands out bright and hopeful, compared to the hundreds of employees bound to Tony by usual, impersonal business chips. In a way, they belong to Stark Industries more than to him personally, but he is still holding their strings. Once the prospect of commanding so many lives frightened him, but in the end, it is just another job, and one he is not doing too badly at.

Tony watches Steve as the dark city rushes past them, wondering whether there will be another miracle to be had here. He does not even need to be friends with Steve, despite what the memory of his childhood-self wants. They just need to get along long enough to work together.

At some point, he notices Steve looking back at him. Tony cannot do anything to hold back the smirk taking over his lips. It is an automatic response to insecurity. If only he can pretend that everything is as it should be, that he has done nothing out of the ordinary, everything will be fine. He has come far enough with that habit that he will not attempt to change it.

“See something you like?” Tony asks with just a hint of suggestion in his tone.

He tells himself not to be disappointed when Steve’s face instantly moves into a grimace. The question was only meant to put Steve off going on another rant about everything wrong with the world. Tony has seen the video evidence of Steve laying into about every person he has met. It would be rather simple to order him to let this go, but Tony would prefer to have Steve’s brain on his side.

“What do you even want from me?” Steve asks, making Tony wonder whether he has thought out loud again. He sometimes does that after a long day in the workshop. It does not matter either way. Steve is not going to trust him.

“Tonight?” Tony asks, deliberately misunderstanding Steve. “I need you to stand behind me and look menacing. I guess that won’t be a problem since that’s kind of your default setting anyway.”

Tonight’s goal is to be seen. Fury is still putting pressure on Tony, hoping to get his hands on Captain America after all. Once everyone is talking about Tony and Steve’s appearance together tonight, it will be so much harder for anyone trying to get Steve for themselves.

“Do you expect to be attacked?” Steve asks, frowning down at himself as if he wonders why he is wearing a suit instead of something better suited for potential fighting.

“Don’t worry your pretty little head about that,” Tony says sweetly. “If I were attacked, I’d let that be handled by people who wouldn’t sooner stab me in the back.”

That number is not actually big, but Tony is still quite content with the people he has in his corner. No one crosses Black Widow and lives, after all. And once Clint can be motivated to join the fray, he is the best shot alive.

“If you don’t trust me, why am I here?”

Steve apparently likes asking the difficult questions. For a short moment, Tony wishes he could answer honestly, that he wants to prove his father wrong, that a Norse god has landed on earth and prophesized a war coming that they are woefully unprepared for, that a small part of Tony still wants his childhood hero Captain America to become his friend.

“Why would I trust you?” Tony shoots back, his teeth bared. There is a time for honesty, but he has not yet found it. “No, don’t answer that. The dislike is mutual, I can assure you.” That, at least, is not a lie. With an easily audible edge to his voice, Tony adds, “You’re here because you need to learn.”

“You mean I need to learn my place?” Too late, Tony notices that there has been honest curiosity on Steve’s face. Now it is quickly replaced by the usual defensive animosity.

Pointedly casual, Tony shrugs. “You need to learn what this world is about. It’s not the utopia promised in the pamphlets, but it’s not all bad either.” On top of that, it would be nice if Steve would stop to question his position as someone bound to Tony. No matter whether Tony wants to or not, they will not be able to change that any time soon.

“You only say that because you’re at the very top,” Steve scoffs. “You’ve no idea what the other side is like.”

Tony’s lips curl into a twisted, bitter version of a smile. He has watched their world grow, has seen what men with absolute power can do. He also remembers having a chip of his own, turning Tony’s mind into a constant battlefield. Neither Howard nor Obadiah had been kind masters.

“And you do?” Tony questions sharply. It takes effort to keep his hands down and away from the puckered scar at the base of his skull. “You didn’t feel the chip being put in and were asleep during the calibrations. You haven’t been in chains since being transported here, despite your continued insolence and plotting. You sleep on silk sheets and get enough food to satisfy even your enhanced metabolism.” Leaning forward, he fixes Steve with an intense glare. “You’re costing me a lot of money, while I get nothing in return.”

Not even a modicum of respect, at least, although few people offer that on their own.

Despite the fact that Tony could have him on the ground, dissolving in never-ending pain, in under a minute, Steve meets his gaze without hesitation. That might not be the smartest move, but Tony has always liked outliers.

“Do you expect me to thank you for taking away my free will?” Steve growls more than asks. A vein on his temple stands out, which is the only sign that he is struggling to keep his temper.

In a show of utter carelessness, Tony leans back in his seat again and shrugs in a way that opens his chest for an easy attack. “You’re still capable of thinking what you want, yes? You can argue. You can say no.” None of that means that anyone will pay heed to Steve’s thoughts, of course. “If I wanted to, that chip in your brain could turn you into nothing more than a drooling husk, taking its only joy from jumping at my word.”

It would be interesting to see, what kind of regenerating abilities Steve’s brain has, courtesy of the serum. Tony is not willing to sacrifice Steve just to satisfy his scientific curiosity, though. Not yet, at least. He still has use for Captain America.

“And you still think this is right?” Steve’s voice is full of judgement, which is the one thing that rankles Tony more than anything, except perhaps for doubt of his abilities.

“If I were to have that chip removed tomorrow, what would you do?” Tony asks, proud of how neutral he sounds. Arguing with Steve will not exactly make anything easier, especially since Tony will sooner or later put a stop to it.

He smiles when Steve seems taken aback by the question. For a moment, he even forgets that he is perpetually upset with Tony, for the drains completely from his expression. He half turns to look back out of the window, at the city he once knew, and does not say anything. Tony thinks he is simply too polite to say that he would begin trying to tear down this system built on slavery.

“Well, think about it and tell me,” Tony says cheerfully. “If it’s not murder and arson, we might just figure something out.”

Tony is not a bad person. Nobody thinks of themselves as bad, of course. He is part of this world, is still shaping it, and earns a lot of money as well as power by that. He owns people and does not see a reason to change that. He still sees them as people, however. Clint, for one, has regular leave to visit his family; weeks at a time when Tony does not need him. Natasha usually only asks for time off when she goes out to feed her personal vendetta against her former owners in Russia. Bruce has his own lab and all the resources he needs. Tony takes care of his own.

“What if I want to be free?” Steve asks, almost too quiet to pierce through Tony’s musings.

“I’m afraid that’s not an option for now.” All good humour vanishes from Tony’s face, and Steve follows suit.

Stubborn to the last, Steve does not let this go. “Why?”

Because the moment Steve would set a foot outside of the tower as a free man, he would be cornered by everyone with a thirst for more power like starved hounds smelling fresh blood. SHIELD, several other government agencies, the military, all of them would find a use for Captain America. And they are all breathing down Tony’s neck, waiting for him to show a weakness for them to exploit.

Apart from that, Steve is truly a man out of time, with just about no legal standing or monetary wealth other than what Tony is providing for him. And, for Tony, this is still personal.

“It’s too much fun showing you off to the world,” Tony answers dismissively, grinning like he does not have a care in the world.

It hurts to see Steve withdrawing from him with disgust on his face. “You’re sick.”

Tony cannot help but agree, but there is no reason to change. He has been shaped by the world, by his father’s greed and expectations. He is a product of his time, and he is doing well.

“Possibly. But no more than the next guy,” Tony admits with a shrug. Because he does not want their little talk to end on such a bitter note, he adds, “Clint told me you wanted to tour the country. Show me that you’re not going to run at the first opportunity, and we’ll arrange that.”

“Why?” Distrust is something Tony is used to, so he meets it with a smile.

“You’re no use to me as an enemy, and I’m not one who enjoys breaking people.” Tony remembers how that feels like, and how much work was needed to put himself back together. They might not have that time. “You don’t have to like me, but we can both profit from working together.”

They are close to their destination, so Tony cuts whatever biting comment Steve had lying on his tongue off with a sharp gesture.

“Now, keep that scowl where it is and look intimidating, while I’m trying to charm these sharks out there out of their money.”

All the way into the mansion where this week’s most important social event is held, Tony feels Steve’s glare burning a hole in his back. He smiles to himself. He still has a chance to prove his father wrong and keep Captain America from hating him forever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!


	3. Chapter 3

People are telling Tony this is not working. Natasha does with analytical honesty and Clint with just a hint of insolence that Tony only suffers because Clint has proven his loyalty often enough. It is both a sad and very comfortable world when no one can talk back to him, so Tony allows it within certain limits.

Captain America is a problem, though. It was perhaps too naïve to think that he would simply fall in line, especially considering the stories Howard used to tell of the rule-hating spitfire Steve was. That does not sound like the smiling puppet the USO had parading around in front of cameras, but Tony guesses he just has not yet found the right incentive for Steve to give up his constant struggle.

He watches the surveillance footage of Steve coming over, caught between amusement and annoyance at Steve’s steps faltering every few feet, fighting against the order to come to Tony’s office _immediately_. Insubordination cannot be ignored in a world like theirs, even if obedience is simply a matter of ordering it.

Right outside his door, a shudder runs through Steve’s body as he stares balefully at the dark wood. Steve is strong to put up such a constant fight. People usually decide to cave to the chip sooner rather than later, unable to struggle against the constant suggestion and lingering threat of pain.

Leaning back in his seat, Tony closes the camera feed and opens some blueprints instead, pretending to work as he waits for Steve to lose the fight and come in.

When he does, it is without knocking or waiting for permission. He simply rips open the door and marches in, building himself up in front of the desk as if it Tony who is being late here and in the wrong.

Barely looking up from his work, Tony orders, “Close the door.”

He pointedly does not look at Steve, not when he struggles against that too, nor when he finally does but too loud be mistaken for a willing act. Then he comes back, too close to the desk, almost towering over Tony. If not for the chip, Tony might even be intimidated by the glare directed at him.

Minutes stretch between them, in which Steve only grows more rigid. If Tony were a more patient man, he would draw this out longer. It must gall Steve to be called up here in a hurry only to be made to wait. Tony remembers that from trying to get Howard’s attention. It is much more comfortable from this side of the game.

When Tony finally raises his head, he makes a point of looking Steve up and down, as if he is not watching him more often than not through the cameras. Captain America is much more impressive in person. Tony can still not believe that Steve is his now.

“A number of people tell me that you are still fighting even the simplest order,” Tony says with nonchalance. “Don’t you think that’s a bit ungrateful, considering everything we’ve done for you?”

With a jaw as perfectly sculpted as Steve’s, Tony can easily watch it clench and unclench as Steve mulls over his words. He is not naïve enough to believe that Steve will simply accept Tony’s scolding and do better from now on – but that is half the fun anyway.

“All you’ve done is to put me in chains,” Steve replies, his voice hoarse as if he spends his days screaming.

Sitting up straighter in his chair, all humour falls from Tony’s face, leaving him cold and unmoveable. He can see why Howard liked Steve, both never straying from wanting the world exactly as they picture it, despising everyone who does not fit their preferred narrative. Steve might be a little more justified in his feelings for Tony, but there is no doubt that Howard is staring back at him from those blue eyes. So much for second chances and gently easing Steve into his role.

“Perhaps you need a reminder of how good you have it?” Tony asks in a velvet voice, shuddering as he remembers Howard saying this exact thing to him. “Perhaps we do need a collar for you. Or we could stage a public whipping to drive the message home.” Pulling his lips into the estimate of a smile, Tony leers. “Or I could chain you to the end of my bed and put a bowl under my table for you. Maybe a muzzle to keep those troublesome thoughts of yours in. Is that what you want?”

It would mean a lot of work that Tony does not actually have the time for. He is also not eager to break Captain America. If he simply wanted _Steve_ , there would be no need to play this endless game of tag between them. The Captain is precious, though. Depending on what the future brings, they might need his quick if unconventional thinking.

Tony does not let those thoughts show on his face. He looks determined and unfazed, lingering on Steve with cold interest, staring at him like at a damaged machine he is going to fix, no matter what it will take.

“You’re – just because you’re not doing that does not mean you’re justified,” Steve spats, although without much fire. He is perhaps aware enough that pushing the point so hard that Tony starts inflicting all of what he expected would happen to him is not actually in his favour. Still, the inherent belief that Tony is the bad guy here is tangible in the air around them.

Tony nods as if he concedes Steve’s point. “All right,” he sighs, keeping his lips in a flat line, no matter that they want to smile at the sight of Steve’s head perking up in surprise. “This isn’t working.”

 He pushes himself away from the desk but remains sitting, stretching out his legs in front of him as he watches Steve. For a moment, he feels very much the villain, unstoppable, ready to feed that ever-growing feeling of petty greed inside him.

“Strip,” he then orders shortly, enjoying the way Steve’s eyes widen at the sudden change in atmosphere, even before the word fully registers.

“What?” Steve questions tonelessly. Hands already trembling to comply.

“Strip,” Tony repeats with sweet cheer but enough bite in his tone that it has to kick the chip into overdrive. “That means, take your clothes off.”

It is remarkable how long Steve remains unmoving, even if most of the stubbornness in his eyes gets replaced by pain. It is really disobedience that hurts all of them the most.

Finally, Steve reaches up to the buttons of his shirt, still hesitant but moving as if he has been burnt. His fingers shake too badly to tackle this task, and Tony watches with amusement as Steve’s frustration rises along with the pain he must be feeling, until he finally just rips his shirt open.

“Why so eager all of a sudden?” Tony mocks, which earns him a deeply hateful glare.

He does not mind, though, because with the shirt dealt with, Steve’s muscles come into view. Tony has seen Steve’s body through the camera feeds of the ship, strapped to that table. Seeing them in real life and close enough to touch is something completely different. He keeps his commentary to himself as Steve steps out of his trousers and reaches for the lining of his underwear. A violent shade of red is spreading on his cheeks and over his chest, causing Tony’s fingers to itch with the need to touch.

Finally, Captain America stands before Tony in his undisguised glory, muscles gleaming, perfect posture, generously hung. He is still trembling, from fury or the lingering traces of pain. He is still looking right at Tony too, defiant to the last.

“Very good,” Tony praises with thick sarcasm in his tone. “Now kneel.”

If possible, Steve becomes even more rigid. He opens and closes his mouth as if to protest, continuing his trend of questioning Tony’s authority, but then he gives in, just like that. Tony can admit that he is a little bit disappointed by that. To follow his plans, he might need a compliant Steve, but having him rebel right here, right to Tony’s face, about this would have been too good an opportunity.

Almost slow enough to make it sensual, Steve lowers himself to the ground, never losing any of his tension. He does not look at Tony anymore but studies the floor in front of him, his blush intensifying. There is nothing obedient in this picture, nothing broken, but Steve does not have a choice either way.

Tony wonders briefly whether this is what Howard was imagining when he thought of the future, Captain America kneeling for him, with nothing to keep them apart. It is equally possible that Tony would have been in Steve’s position. Howard would have hardly had any use for his disappointing son when he could have had Steve.

Howard is dead, however, and the world is Tony’s to shape and play with. Right now, he cannot think of a place he would rather be.

He gets up with a bored grace that belies his eagerness, and takes measured steps to surround Steve, to look down at him. Steve is beautiful on his knees, even though he is too tense and altogether too ready for violence. If not for the chip holding him back, Tony is sure that he would be nothing but a smear on his floor right now. The joys of modern technology, to take in this masterpiece without hurry.

There is just enough space left between Steve and the desk, that Tony can comfortably lean against edge of the desk and look down at his prize. The position is suggestive enough to send his blood pooling in his cock, but Tony knows better than to indulge right now, hard as it may be.

Still, he cannot stop himself from teasing Steve further. “Spread your legs a little,” he orders, but looks at Steve’s jaw rather than his groin, thinking he can almost hear Steve’s teeth grinding against each other.

Reaching out, Tony puts two fingers under Steve’s chin and tips his head up. It does not surprise him when Steve fights the movement, but when he clicks his tongue in impatience the chip must take that as enough of an order to take Steve’s resistance away.

“Look at me,” Tony says when Steve still keeps his eyes down.

When the cold blue shifts towards him, Tony almost laughs at the rush of power flooding through him. How far the mighty have fallen and the wretched have climbed.

“I need you to understand something, _Captain_.” Tony pauses when Steve flinches at his former title. “If I wanted to, I could order you to get into this position every time I enter a room you’re in. I could tell you to bend over the table and whip you bloody. I could make you be in pain every single moment you don’t think about pleasing me.” Tony shrugs, making it clear that there is really nothing more to it than him speaking an order. “Nobody would think me out of line. In fact, they’d probably wonder what took me so long.”

Natasha, who is arguably both the most obedient and most independent person under his command, told him to get Steve under control and to do it fast. Otherwise, or so she hinted, he might lose his window completely. And no one wants Captain America running free, or to waste his talents by turning him into a drooling puppet.

“I’m a –” Steve protests through clenched teeth, but they do not have time for that.

“Silence,” Tony snaps. He emphasizes his point by putting one of his shoes on top of Steve’s bare thigh. “This is not actually a situation where your opinion is required. Not that you’ll find yourself in many of those from now on.” Smirking, he adds some pressure with his foot. “But this is a lesson, so I need you to listen closely.”

The vein on Steve’s temple pulses, but when Tony is nearly certain that they have to settle this matter differently, Steve swallows any further arguments down. He does not become compliant, far from it, but it looks like the chip is not going to fry his brain to keep him from strangling Tony on the spot at least. He drops his eyes too, close to dismissive.

Slight disappointment runs through Tony, but he does not let that show. Instead, he leans forward and runs his hand through Steve’s hair, tugging just hard enough to make himself known and to get Steve to look at him again.

“I could do all of those things, but I will only do them if you continue to give me trouble.” It is a promise disguised as a theat. Tony is not quite sure whether he wants Steve to understand that he could be safe for the small price of submission. There is too much history between them already. “I’m easily pleased. It shouldn’t be so hard, even for you. You belong to me and that’s it.”

That is not it, but Steve is not ready for anything else. Tony is not either, truth be told. He is not a bad person, no matter what the press says about him and what business partners whisper behind his back. Having his father’s hero on his knees in front of him, make Tony wish he would be as bad as people think. That might just help to chase away his demons. 

“You’ve been advertised as some kind of strategical genius, so I implore you to use that famed mind of yours and stop making life so hard on yourself,” Tony continues, almost gentle.

He knows that Steve did not get to where he is because he followed orders. His whole becoming Captain America was _despite_ of what people expected of him, not because. His file is littered with minor offences, insubordination, and outright lies. As a child, Tony admired the good Captain’s tendencies to stand up to his betters. In reality, it is a mere bother.

“I don’t care how I get your obedience as long as I get it,” Tony says, hiding the urgency he feels. If he shows impatience, he has already lost. “You just have to decide whether you want to keep some of the parts that made you _you_ before all of this.”

Tony lingers where he is, boot on Steve’s leg and hand in his hair, studying him like he would chipped china. With one smooth motion, he gets up and straightens his back to full height, so that Steve has to crane his neck to keep looking at him.

“Now, stay where you are until you are relieved,” Tony orders, his tone bored as if he is completely unaffected by Captain America kneeling naked in front of his desk.

He picks up Steve’s clothes, ostensibly to get rid of the ruined shirt but mostly to prove a point. Then he strides out of his office, looking back before he steps into the elevator.

“Don’t wait up, honey,” he calls, enjoying the way all of Steve’s muscles tense anew.

Steve makes for a gorgeous picture, even trembling with rage as he is. This is still not going to work. A little bit of humiliation and an expected power play is not going to bring Steve to heel.

A smile tugs at Tony’s lips. It is a good thing then that he has another plan. Steve will not like this one bit, but he does not have to. He just needs to do as he is told, and Tony is good at finding people’s weaknesses. Thankfully he has Steve’s already on hand.

 

* * *

 

Without warning, Steve’s door crashes open to reveal Stark striding in, lips pulled up by a grin that has a distinctly manic energy to it.

“Sit,” he orders carelessly, gesturing at the bed, when Steve rises to his feet, ready to meet whatever plan Stark has for him head on.

Steve lets his legs fold back out under him without protest. He is certain he will need his strength later, and conversations with Stark are much less easy to bear when he develops a headache before it has even really started. He refuses to say anything, though. A meeting that begins with an order cannot end well. He remembers the last time they have seen each other, and the humiliation of kneeling naked in front of Stark’s desk for hours on end has not yet worn off. Neither has the echo of Stark’s threats.

While it looks like Stark will take to pacing the room, he seems to think better of it and picks up the desk chair instead, turning it around so that he can sit and face Steve.

“All right,” Stark says, leaning forward, fingers drumming on his legs. “I’ve got a task for you.”

The urge to slump his shoulder wars with the habit of stranding straight in Steve. He is not surprised. The past weeks in the tower did not have any solid structure to it. Nobody demanded him to do anything. Steve knew that this could not last, but this premise is especially worrying.

He thought someone might dig out his old costume and shield to make him run around as a colourful mascot again, or maybe he would be sent to fight some real battles, or he would end up in a lab again as a voiceless _volunteer_ to have scientist prod and dissect him.

Somehow, Stark does not look like he has any of these things in mind, and Steve is not sure whether he should not be more worried about that.

“What are you waiting for?” Steve asks when Stark does not continue. “It’s not as if I can say no.”

An emotion flashes over Stark’s face, too quick to decipher, but Steve would bet it was annoyance. He is, once again, proving to be difficult, after all. Within moments, Stark transforms from a giddy schoolboy with a ‘brilliant’ idea he has to try to the smooth businessman Steve is used to dealing with. It is such a seamless change, that Steve notices far too late – and finds himself feeling like he has missed an opportunity here.

“I’m considering to give you a choice here,” Stark says, although he makes that sound like his patience is already running out again. His fingers are still tapping complicated rhythms on his leg.

While Steve can go through his days at the tower almost forgetting his situation, apart from the fact that he is undeniably in the future and everyone he loved is dead, Stark has a habit of reminding him immediately, inescapably, that all freedom has its limits.

“Why?” Steve asks, managing to swallow down a lot of his bitterness. The way he sees it, Stark cannot only force him to do anything he needs, he could also tweak the chip’s transmission in a way to make Steve _want_ to obey. That is what he is afraid of most. In one way or another, he has not been his own person since he agreed to enter Erskine’s program, but he had always had the option to walk away, even if it is unlikely he would have gotten far.

Stark cocks his head to the side as if he is contemplating how best to answer Steve’s question.

“You might have noticed that I have a small group of people in my employ with extraordinary abilities,” he finally says, almost pensive.

Steve guesses that is right. A lot of rumours are circling in the tower about Black Widow’s abilities and the number of confirmed kills she has. She sometimes deigns to spar with Steve and, for once, he does not have to pull his punches. Clint, of course, boasts to everyone in hearing range of the magic he can do with a bow and arrow. That might not be as impressive as Natasha’s varied set of skills but they are inseparable, and Steve knows better than to think he could take them.

Dr Banner is a topic for himself. The man is obviously brilliant. The scientists in the tower apparently never stop gushing about his work. Steve has noticed irregularities, though. A room adjourns the lab, looking more like a cage, with heavy doors and thick walls and not much more. Ever since Steve has gotten a glimpse of that, he thinks that, perhaps, there is some truth to people warning him about Banner’s problems with anger management. Mentions of him ‘going green’ pop up every now and then. While Banner is kind enough, Steve has seen the wildness in his eyes at times. It is better not to poke that clever disguised hornet’s nest.

Furthermore, Clint has been talking about a real Norse god walking their streets, able to call thunder and lightning. One might describe that as extraordinary.

Once Steve nods to show that he understands what Stark might be getting at, Stark continues. “Our world being what it is, it is easy for those with enough power to exploit people like that and further their own gains.”

Here Steve thought he might be able to lead a meaningful conversation with Stark, but Stark is naturally only interested in making life better for himself.

“Unlike you, of course,” Steve cannot help but remark, heavy sarcasm in his tone.

“Don’t interrupt me,” Stark cuts him off with a frown, but does not look satisfied when Steve’s jaws practically melt shut. “But you are right, in a way. I’m collecting these people whenever I stumble upon them.”

The audacity of Stark to talk about this so casually, like there is nothing wrong with collaring people, like he is proud of it even. Steve does not say anything, still galled about being ordered around and not eager to find out whether he is even already able again. Perhaps Stark is prepared to deliver one long monologue that Steve has to suffer through. 

Stark takes his time. When Steve looks close enough, he can see Stark’s jaw moving, like he is trying out words to see how they feel without letting them out already. He is also watching Steve, just as closely as he had that first time they met.

“I can be reasonably sure of their allegiance even ignoring the fact that most of them are bound to me. But I’m not their leader.” Surprisingly, Stark does not say that like he regrets that fact. For someone so used to being in charge, he is not so eager to step up here. “Depending on how well you manage to fit into this life, I want that leader to be you.”

Sunken in his unflattering judgement of Stark, it takes a while for the words to register in Steve’s mind. When they do, his spine shoots into a straight position as he narrows his eyes in renewed distrust.

“What?”

Stark smirks at that, although it is not his usual, flaunting ridicule, but something far more private.

“Don’t get me wrong. I know that you don’t have any military training other than your war escapades,” Stark explains and does not sound as dismissive as his words might warrant. “You have the necessary authority though and you’re nice to look at, which are both good qualities in a leader. You’d still be answering to me, of course, but this group needs to be united behind more than their obligation to me.”

Steve must have missed some vital information. He is still not trusted to walk the tower on his own. He is still fighting every order he is given with all he has. He is unruly and angry and bitter, and not ready to trust anyone or have anyone trust him in return. So why would Stark want him to lead anything? All this speculation is moot, of course, before he knows what is going on.

“Why would you need a group of powered people?” Steve asks, refusing to wince at the accusation already forming in his tone. Thankfully, Stark either does not notice or decides to ignore it.

“Remember Fury, the one-eyed ray of sunshine who’s constantly trying to get his hands on you?” Stark looks like a shark, showing too many teeth. There is history between those two, and it is likely not peaceful. “We don’t always agree on everything, but he thinks there’s a war coming for us that humanity isn’t ready for. And while I believe him, I’m not ready to leave our defence to him.”

A war, Steve thinks, leaning slightly away from Stark. His shoulders straighten of their own volition. After years of fighting, it is still surprising how big he is when he does not hunch over.

All of Steve’s life has been filled with one war or another. Sickness and hunger, acceptance, and of course the real thing. Even while talking to Peggy on the plane, his mind had been filled with war. Waking up in this world has not actually given him the chance to let go of that.

Steve is not afraid of war, but he can admit that Stark’s expression has him worried. Stark does not seem like the kind of person concerning himself with the safety of others, even humanity as a whole. He likely has a bunker somewhere with enough supplies to tide him over whatever catastrophe might hit them. Yet, here he sits, talking about defence and leaders, and throwing powered people into the fray.

“So you want us to be what? Your attack dogs? Your first line of defence to cower behind?”

Steve should probably ask what kind of enemy they are talking about here. Saying a war is coming for _humanity_ has a dangerous ring to it. He cannot help it though. Stark’s dismissal of other people’s lives has Steve livid. He should be used to it, having been carted around by generals and officers just like that during the war, but he is apparently not yet beyond hope that things might become better at some point.

As usual, Stark shows himself unimpressed by Steve’s outburst. He merely cocks his head slightly to the side and watches Steve. “I don’t plan on staying back in case of an actual attack,” he says casually, causing Steve to snort with helpless amusement. Throwing money at an enemy only helps so much, and sending his slaves to fight is not exactly _helping_ as Steve sees it. “Other than that, I want you to become a team, to work well with each other, to be _ready_ , no matter what might be coming for us. You’re all for protecting the innocent, aren’t you?”

“You’re hardly innocent,” Steve cannot help but say. The chip in his brain hums sharply but no pain is coming. Behind his careless mask, Stark looks serious, so Steve relents just a bit. “What are you asking me to do exactly?”

That sounds too much like Steve is giving in, but Stark does not look triumphant, merely tired. The way he had said _whatever is coming for us_ sounds ominous enough to make Steve concentrate on the task at hand for now. It might be nothing, but Steve has seen all of humanity fighting each other and then some. It would not be so farfetched to think something else might be coming for them too.

“I need you to get your head on straight and to stop fighting a system that won’t fall just because you glare at it,” Stark says, sounding sharp enough but not making it into an order. “I need you to concentrate on the real battles.”

They could have a philosophical discussion about what the real battles are here. Those in chains have always fought back and, once enough time has passed, their war has always been called a righteous one - only if they won, of course.

Steve’s shoulders pull back to the point it becomes painful, but he stays that way, looking directly at Stark. “Why don’t you just order me to obey you?”

Stark’s eyes glint as he smiles, which Steve interprets as him being one wrong word away from doing so. It has Steve’s muscles tensing already in the anticipation of pain.

“That would defy the very concept of a team,” Stark then says, with enough scorn that Steve finds himself relaxing. “I don’t like you and I know you hate me, but I’m willing to put that aside in expectation of something much worse coming for us.”

Instead of being afraid of that big, evil unknown Stark seems to think lies in their future, he sounds almost excited. After having barely risen a notch in Steve’s opinion, he is already dropping back down.

“That’s easy for you to say,” Steve snaps thoughtlessly, “since you’re holding all of our strings.”

This time, there is a sharp tinge of pain travelling down his spine, warning Steve to calm down. His own body is betraying him, trying to make him think of Stark as something other than an enemy. Every encounter with the man has Steve thinking he is not going to be able to stand this for much longer.

“And that’s not going to change, and I refuse to apologize for that,” Stark says, a hint of impatience entering his voice.

Things can only escalate from here, so Steve stands up, enjoying the way he can look down on Stark if only for a moment. “Then I think we’re done here.”

“We’re done here when I say we’re done,” Stark counters immediately. Steve is not sure what does it, the words themselves or Stark’s sharp gesture at the bed, but Steve’s legs fold out underneath him almost immediately, sending him back to the bed as if he never stood in the first place. “Also, you haven’t even heard my offer yet.”

Breathing becomes very hard for a fleeting moment. Steve is not sure whether the chip is getting stronger, more capable of navigating Steve’s brain, or if his defences are growing weaker, but it feels like he did not even get a chance to fight Stark’s unspoken command this time. The ever-present tendril of fear inside his stomach grows bigger, coiling around Steve’s gut.

Still, he keeps his head high. That is the first thing fighting bullies in Brooklyn’s back-alleys has taught him. He cannot let anyone see that he is afraid, or they will have already won.

“Well then,” Steve says dryly, making a show of settling into a comfortable position. “I’m all ears.”

No immediate satisfaction is visible on Stark’s face as he musters Steve. In fact, he looks simply more tired. “Sarcasm doesn’t suit you, Captain.” For once, there is no derision accompanying the title, but Steve is not sure he likes it any better that way. Captain America is dead. He died alongside Steve’s freedom. “You wanted to go on a road trip, yes? So, I’m letting you go. You can get a good look at the country you’re supposed to defend.”

Expecting everything but that, Steve can do nothing but stare incredulously. This is a trap of some sorts, Steve is just not sure whether he is supposed to accept or refuse, what will bind him further to Stark.

“You’re letting me go, just like that?” Steve asks, hearing the longing in his own voice.

Travelling the country is a dream he has had before he ever ventured out of Brooklyn, before he travelled through war-torn lands and desperately wanted to see his own home, whole and precious. He remembers lying on the roof of their apartment building with Bucky at his side, pretending they were stargazing out in the desert or the mountains or any other fantastic place they could point at on the old, wrinkled map Steve had hidden in a shoebox under his bed.

Steve desperately does not want there to be a catch, or an order interwoven with this opportunity. Stark looks at him with pity in his eyes, though, and destroys that illusion immediately.

“Of course not,” he scoffs, likely laughing at Steve’s naivety. “You will get a set of strict orders. And you won’t be alone.”

The orders were to be expected. They are already hanging around Steve’s neck wherever he goes. He is sick and tired of getting escorted everywhere. It is not like he can actually escape from the tower. Not, at least, without risking to seriously cripple himself, or frying his own brain. Steve might think his situation insufferable, but there are limits as to what he is willing to sacrifice to get out.

“I don’t want any of your guard dogs following me around,” Steve says nonetheless, as if he has any authority over where he goes and what he does.

Stark’s smile, as usual, does not bode well for him. “I think you’re going to change your mind once you meet him.” Then he looks over his shoulder and calls, “Snowflake, it’s time for your grand entrance.”

Later, Steve wishes he had not been so stubborn as to ignore who was coming in, in favour of glaring at Stark. That way, he only sees Bucky once he has taken position next to Stark, clad in dark combat clothes and packed with half an armoury worth of weapons, and, unbelievably, smiling.

A ghost has stepped right in front of Steve and he cannot make sense of it. If he were to close his eyes, he would see Bucky falling from that train again, vanishing into the swirling white beneath them. Even so, he can hear the distant screams, feels the loss tugging at his chest again.

Still, this is undeniably his oldest friend standing in a room with him in the future. His hair is a bit longer and he is wearing a glove on one of his hands. Steve’s chest constricts as if his childhood asthma is making a reappearance.

“Hey, Stevie,” Bucky says. It is his voice, a bit more gravelly than Steve remembers but with the same fond lilt to it.

“Bucky?” Steve rises to his feet but does not manage to step forward. Instead, he stares. “Are you – is that – How is this possible?”

He thinks about clones and masks or even a simple projection. Steve does not put it beyond Stark to stoop to such low tricks. Realism has no chance against the sheer longing filling him, though. He wants this to be real, wants Bucky to be here with them. He is even willing to accept that chip in his brain, if only he can have his best friend back.

Before he can do anything, Stark rises too, interjecting himself subtly between Bucky and Steve, just enough to make it clear that they are meeting only through his generosity, and that everything that is given can be taken away again.

“Long story short,” Stark explains with a sharp smirk, “he fell from the train and HYDRA found him and turned him into a supersoldier.” He gestures dismissively at Steve’s body. “A bit like you but with more brainwashing and a less sparkling outfit. They sent him to kill my father, and that’s when I found him and decided they don’t deserve him. He’s been with me ever since.”

_With_ Stark likely means that Bucky is chipped too, but there is something that looks suspiciously like fondness crossing Bucky’s face as he looks at Stark, which has Steve feeling nauseous and grateful at the same time.

“HYDRA?” Steve then asks, not understanding how the organization he wiped out could have been still operating this far into the future. “How – I mean –”

“I think I finally broke him,” Stark sighs contentedly. “Should have pulled the long-lost best friend card much sooner.”

Steve is too dumbfounded to be angry. His best friend has apparently been so close all this time and Stark had kept them from each other. It could be that Bucky did not know either, of course, but he does not look surprised but more fondly amused at Stark’s antics. They look at each other like friends.

“Let me guess,” Bucky remarks dryly, filling Steve with the almost painful need to step forward and touch Bucky to make sure he is real, “you’re going to print a picture of his expression and hang it over your desk.”

“What else could I do? It’s priceless.”

They are laughing at Steve, but he could not care less. He did not think he would ever see Bucky again, much less hear him laugh. If he could preserve that sound forever, he would be willing to strip himself bare, body and soul, and never refuse another order ever again. A small part of his brain realizes that this is exactly what Stark intended to achieve with this sudden reunion, but he could not care less whether he is being played. This is Bucky, his best friend, his almost-brother. There is nothing easier than to give himself up for him.

Before Steve can make any hasty vows, Stark clasps a hand on Bucky’s shoulder and looks up at him, Steve completely forgotten in front of them. “Now, you know what to do. Tell me when you’re leaving, I’ll see you off.” He grows serious, nothing playful in his voice anymore. “I expect him to be fit to lead when you’re back.”

Bucky simply nods, a half-smile ghosting over his lips. “He will be.”

Thoughts racing in his head, Steve still cannot move as he watches Stark leave. Distantly, he realizes that Bucky has just been ordered to be Steve’s handler, but none of that is of any importance right now. This horrible future appears a great deal less real now that Bucky is here with him.

They look at each other, content with just trying to realize that they are both here, both real, until, all of a sudden, Steve’s limbs do not feel frozen in place anymore. He stumbles forward more than he walks, but then Bucky is right there, within reach.

“Bucky,” he breathes. His chest trembles like this is the first real intake of air he has managed since waking up in the future. “Are you all right?”

“Of course I am.” Bucky rolls his eyes the way he always did after a fight, when Steve was usually more banged up than him but insisted on taking care of Bucky anyway. “What about you? You’re still new here. Have you settled in yet?”

_Settled in?_ Energy is building up inside Steve’s bones. All those talks about escape with an unwilling Clint seem meaningless now that Bucky is here. Together, they always made the impossible possible. Now that Stark’s oppressive presence is gone, Steve feels ready to upturn the whole world and put things back the way they are supposed to. There is nothing they cannot achieve, as long as they do not get separated again.

“Does Stark _own_ you too?” They looked friendly enough together, but Steve knows better. Stark does not have friends, he has slaves. There is no way Bucky would still be here if he were not forced to. “This is so wrong. If I had known that you are here, I would have –” Steve shakes his head. There is no time for regrets. “I mean, how are we going to get out?”

Something is wrong. Steve notices that as soon as he recognizes the look in Bucky’s eyes. It is not quite the same fondness he had when trying to talk Steve out of getting beat up while following after him anyway. It reminds Steve more of the times when Bucky was done indulging him and dragged him, kicking and screaming, to safety.

“Breathe, Stevie,” Bucky says, the name rolling easy off his tongue. “We’re not getting out. I’ve been with Tony for years. Longer than anyone else but Rhodey. He’s a good man.”

How often has Steve heard that by now? Stark is a good man? As if. Steve tries to ignore the way his chest hurts, how Bucky’s words make him feel like he is bleeding slowly out.

He does not know when Howard died, but Steve has been asleep for seventy years. Chances are that Bucky has been with Stark longer than he has been with Steve. Slavery or not, that changes people.

“He put a chip inside your brain,” Steve insists, hearing the desperate note in his voice, just short of whining.

When Bucky reaches out to put an arm around Steve’s shoulder and leads them towards the bed, Steve follows without complaint. No matter that it feels like they are on the precipice of an argument, just being close to Bucky soothes all of the raw wounds Steve has gathered since coming to the future.

They sit down, turning towards each other. It has never been more obvious that they are not children anymore. It is not the weapons Bucky carries and not the chips hidden out of sight in their brains. There is a distance of decades between them. Decades that Steve might have slept but that Bucky lived, right here, in this world that Steve neither understands nor accepts.

“He got me away from HYDRA,” Bucky says simply, a myriad of emotions hidden in his eyes. “Then he broke their brainwashing, which might have taken impossibly long without that little chip of his. Afterwards that was the only way the government would not lock me up. Serving him is kind of my sentence for decades of murder for HYDRA.”

Steve wants to scream, wants to reach out and shake some sense into Bucky. He does not quite dare to ask about HYDRA, about brainwashing and being used, but surely none of that warrants slavery. None of that makes it right for Bucky to be collared by another man.

“Tony hasn’t used that authority over me in years, though,” Bucky continues before Steve can form a coherent argument. “He’d let me go if I asked.”

That makes everything worse. How can Bucky live like that? It sounds like he is thinking of Stark as a friend, but he cannot be friends with a man who has absolute power over him. The possibility of issuing an order has to always hang between them.

“You’re staying willingly?” Steve asks, aghast. “But –”

“As I said, he’s a good man,” Bucky cuts him off without remorse. His eyes are still filled with fondness when he looks at Steve, but some impatience is creeping in. “And the Avengers Initiative is a good idea. You could do good with us.”

The only _us_ Steve ever wanted to be a part of was with Bucky and later the Howling Commandos. Now, Bucky has an _us_ of his own. Even if he is offering to take Steve in with them, it is not the same, not like this.

“All of this is still wrong, though,” Steve protests, hearing himself how feeble that sounds, like a child refusing bedtime while not being able to stop yawning. He does not want to give in, but the fact remains that there is nothing in this world he would not do for Bucky. Especially not while there is a chance to make him see reason.

“We’re both here because Tony brought us together,” Bucky argues decidedly, sounding grateful of all things. “He’s not asking overly much in return.”

Laughter presses against Steve’s clenched teeth but he swallows it down. They do not have time for hysterics. He has to make Bucky see reason. “But we don’t have a choice,” he says. Which, truly, should be all the reason they need.

“I need you to stop talking about this, Steve.”

Bucky says this in a friendly enough tone, no warning hidden beneath the words. Still, when Steve opens his mouth to keep pushing, no sound comes out.

Utterly horrified, he stares at his best friend and tries again. Nothing happens, other than the first tendrils of pain growing from the back of his head. He should not be surprised that Stark has given Bucky authority over him. Otherwise, he would have never entertained the idea of letting Steve out of here. That Bucky has used it, on the other hand, leaves him more than speechless. It is like something shatters inside him, like realization finally settles into his bones. This is his world now, where his body and mind are not his own anymore but someone else’s to command, even if that someone is his best friend.

“Bucky,” Steve manages to croak. The pain lessens when he says nothing else, does not try to.

Bucky’s smile never wavers. Something distinctly like pity enters his eyes, though. 

“You’ve still got some weeks to decide,” he says gently, almost as if Steve really has a choice. Then, in the same tone, he issues another order, probably not even thinking that something is wrong with that. “Pack your things and meet me in the garage tomorrow morning.”

Steve nods automatically. He wants to fight this, to not give in so easily. This is Bucky, though. His Bucky, whom he has thought lost to him forever. All his misgivings aside, and ignoring the bitter taste of being ordered around, Steve knows that his attempt at resistance is over now. Stark knew that. He must have, considering the way he smirked as he left. His hate is dampened now, however, simply by the sight in front of him. No matter under what circumstances or in which century, he will always be with Bucky. They have promised that to each other a lifetime ago. Until the end of the line.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I plan to write more for this, and I've already got some notes, but my third (and last) state examination is coming up next month so I haven't written a single word for three weeks and my head's filled with work stuff. But I thought this was a good point to end things for now.
> 
> Thank you for reading. Please let me know what you think or what you might want to read concerning this story.   
> Wish me luck for my exam.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading. Please let me know what you think.


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